


When Night Comes Again

by MiniMari



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon Continuation, Conspiracy, Developing Relationship, Drama, Established Relationship, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Platonic Relationships, Romance, Suspense, there's romance but there's also a lot of platonic stuff, there's some new characters too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-04-16 00:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14153145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniMari/pseuds/MiniMari
Summary: "When night comes again and the cold draws near, death comes back 'round to taste your fear."Four years after the incident at Blackwood Pines, the survivors have been quieted and told to move on with their lives by the government. Though forever changed, the group is able to resume their normal lives. Now as the fifth anniversary approaches, they look forward to another somber tradition like the ones that came before. They all would go out to their favorite cafe, have a toast, then go home and move on once again. Everything was going to be fine...until Sam received an email that changed everything.





	1. After Dawn

1\. After Dawn

_**SAM** _  
_**United States Embassy** _  
_**Ottowa** _

  
_I thought we had a connection._

Her own words rang violently in her ears hours after her interview. The slate room the FBI agent left her in had all the charm of a cemetary. It even had the same eerie feeling. Invisible eyes following her. Ears that could hear her many questions but not answer them. A place so uncomfortable only the dead could rest there. She was thankful for her rescue and for being away from the hell that was Blackwood Pines at last, but at the moment the room she was in felt colder than the mountain and just as wrong.

Sam raised her head slowly and looked around at her fellow survivors. Ashley and Chris sat together on one of the benches. Ashley was asleep, curled up in a ball as she leaned into him. Chris's arms caged her shoulders as if he was guarding her in case the Wendigo somehow found them. In any other situation it would have been cute, but under these circumstances it was heartbreaking. There was no warmth in his expression or how he held Ashley, only fear. He looked like a wide-eyed fawn, corned and waiting. Waiting to see when the horror would resume, not if it would. That was all any of them knew at the moment. Horror.

Even Emily, always unshakeable, trembled like a volcanic eruption. She sat in a chair in the corner far away from the others. She made sure she was especially distanced from Matt, who made his nest in the seat next to Sam, making known some unspeakable grudge she'd formed over the course of the night. She wouldn't even look at anyone else; she just sat there with her hair pulled in front of her face to hide her obvious tears. Matt on the other hand didn't seem to be angry at her like she was at him. He kept glancing over at her before turning away almost in shame. Sam didn't know what happened since neither Emily nor Matt would talk about it, but it was clear their relationship was over for the moment. She couldn't blame them for not talking about it. Everyone had been through so much over the course of the night. No one was ready to talk about it. Not to each other. Not this soon.

The fact that they had barely anytime to recover emotionally before being prodded with questions made the interviews so much worse. As soon as the rangers moved them to the US Embassy, they were greeted by men and women in suits and taken to this little waiting room. One by one they took them into the interview room and questioned them for hours. It must have been late into the afternoon by now. Sam wondered when they would be allowed to leave. The woman who was watching over them, Special Agent Morasco (as was proudly displayed on the FBI badge she waved in their faces earlier), said that all they were waiting for was for the doctors to sign off on Jessica's transfer to a US hospital and for some international clerical bullshit to get approved. She was very vague on the details, but Sam didn't care to ask nor did she think she would get any actual answers if she did.

Another half-hour passed by at an agonizingly slow pace. Waiting for time to pass was like trying to push a car that won't start uphill. Finally, Matt stood up and brushed off the front of his pants.

"Welp," he spoke in a half-whisper as he pat Sam gently on the shoulder. "I'm going to go check on Mike. Hopefully they let him visit Jessica by now. Dude's been trying to talk his way in there for almost two hours." He talked so lightly, as if the slightest hint of roughness in his voice might hurt someone. Matt's kindness and considerate nature was always overlooked because of his reputation as a jock, but if there was ever a time for that side of him to shine through, it was now. They all needed to be there for each other more than ever before.

It wasn't long after Matt had left that Chris began to stir from his almost catatonic state. He slowly turned his head to face Sam, pausing as he collected his words.

"Do you think they'll actually go?"

Sam didn't understand what he meant at first.

"Go...where?"  
"To the mines."  
"Oh. Yeah, I...I don't know. I hope so."

Sam curled her lips inward, wetting the chapped skin. She'd made it adamantly clear during her interview that they needed to investigate the mines. Whether or not they would believe what she said and listen to her advice, that was another story.

"You saw something down there, didn't you?" Chris continued. "When you and Mike went after Josh, you saw something?"

A deathly silence followed his question. Sam wasn't sure if she was ready to talk about what she saw. The agents forced her to talk about it already. But Chris was not a prying interviewer. Chris was her friend. He'd been through the same trauma as her. Who could she confide in if not her friends?

"We saw its lair. We saw where it...where it took its prey after it caught it. We found..." Sam trailed off. She was going to bring up discovering Hannah's fate, but then she decided that it was best to leave that particular detail out until later. "It's where we found Josh."

"Was he......was he already dead when you found him?"

"No. He was alive. He was having a seriously bad breakdown. Seeing him like that really hurt."

It hurt even worse considering that was his life for the past year and Sam never even knew. She thought he trusted her. She thought she could help him. She thought-

It didn't matter what she thought in the end. She was wrong. There was a whole other side to Josh that no one knew about. It made her feel like a shitty friend. This was something he needed support through, but did he not think she could give him that support? She tried her damnedest, but there was nothing she could do to help him fight demons she didn't even know existed. It was Josh's choice. And yet, Sam could only blame herself.

"Was it quick?"

"Huh?" she blinked, snapping back to the conversation at hand.

"When he died. Was it..."Chris shook his head, visibly struggling to ask what he wanted to know. His voice cracked as he continued. "What he did was shitty, but he didn't...he didn't deserve to die for it! He was my friend and I left him in a shed for that thing to take him! Just, Sam, I...I need to know. Did he suffer?"

Sam knew exactly how Chris was feeling at that moment. Like somehow it was his fault that Josh died. She felt the same thing. There was a seeping, perverted guilt about being alive when their friend wasn't that didn't feel right. The fact that they were abominably furious at him before he was taken made things worse, as if somehow their bad feelings were what wished these things upon him. It wasn't true, of course, but just because the feelings were false didn't mean that they weren't felt with all the intensity of truth.

"I don't know. I didn't see him die. I left him and Mike to get back to the lodge, and when Mike caught up to me Josh wasn't with him. I'm sorry, Chris. I should have stayed."

The veiled panic slowly flushed out of Chris's expression like the air being let out of a balloon. She couldn't answer his question, but she wouldn't lie to him either. It was a strange mercy for both of them. He waved off her apology.

"No, don't apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. It was the best decision you could've made with the situation and with what you knew. Besides, even if you stayed behind with them, it probably wouldn't have made a difference. That thing might have gotten you instead, or maybe even both of you. Don't convince yourself otherwise Sam. It won't do you any good."

Chris was right. Not only about her, but about himself. It was strange how quickly they could defend and forgive each other when they couldn't do the same for themselves.

"I should say the same to you," she replied, looking down towards the plain tiles on the floor, as bleak as the fresh terror that still racked their brains. "Maybe someday soon we'll stop blaming ourselves right?"

"I hope so," Chris sighed as he peeked down at Ashley, still fast asleep. "I can't wait for the day that I don't question every decision I ever made as if it could have changed anything."

"That day might never come. We might question everything for the rest of our lives. Even if the questioning and pointless guilt goes away, I don't think Blackwood ever will. I think it will always be there in the back of our minds," Sam lifted her eyes from the dismal flooring and looked to the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. It was dim enough that it didn't burn her eyes as she stared at it but bright enough to blur out the surroundings as time passed. Such a mundane thing was trance-like a the moment, lulling her to the point she forgot to blink. The longer she stared the brighter it seemed. Eventually everything looked white, almost like snow.

This shook her from her absent gaze. She wasn't sure she ever wanted to see snow again. It was a shame. Snow was beautiful. Sledding was fun. Skiing was also fun. She thought of happy snow days visiting Colorado to hike, and the few times she was invited to Blackwood with the Washingtons for vacation before Hannah and Beth's disappearance. She closed her eyes to try and remember, but the happiest of the memories were interrupted by painful snippets of the previous night's events. How sad it was that such happy memories could be ruined by a tragedy that happened much later. She didn't want the memories to be ruined. She didn't want to hate snow. She thought of building snow sculptures with Hannah and Beth and how they would fight over what to make before erupting into a snowball fight. She thought of Josh's booming, infectious laughter that echoed all three times he shoved snow down the back of her shirt during a trip once, and how much louder it was when she finally got her revenge. A lump formed in her throat. Melancholy, yet somehow resolute.

"But that doesn't mean we can't learn to live with it,"she continued as she remembered Hannah, Beth, and Josh. Blackwood took all three of them from her. She wouldn't let it take the memories as well, nor the happiness she knew would come back to her one day. "We'll live with it. Someday. Somehow. We survived the monsters. We'll get through the aftermath as well."

Chris only nodded in response. Sam's declaration was enough to quell him for the moment. Instead it was Emily that caught her eye. As Sam turned her head, she saw her glossy brown eyes peeking from the curtain of hair that guarded her tears. Of all the people to see break down, Emily was the least expected. She was always so unflinching and confident in her actions and words, but right now it was clear that she was far from stone-hearted. Sam felt for her. It was always hard for someone as gentle as Sam to connect with someone as sharp as Emily. But trauma and tragedy wouldn't respect sharpness nor gentleness, thus in tragedy there was always a shared bridge.

Sam rose from her seat and made her way over to Emily, taking the seat next to her. "Are you okay?"

Emily's expression was tell-tale. At first her eyebrows curled in annoyance, causing Sam to wince in response. She was ready for her to berate her for asking such a stupid question, expecting something along the lines of 'Do I look okay to you?' or 'Of course I'm not okay you dipshit!' or "What do you fucking think?' Instead, Emily's features softened once more as tears formed at the corners of her eyes. Sam reached out and took her hands in her own, rubbing softly over the tops with her thumbs as an offer of comfort.

"No." The softly whispered word was Emily's only response. It was still more than Sam expected.

"Your shirt's ripped. It's a shame; it was really pretty," Sam noted, looking down at the torn hem of Emily's grey shirt. One of the only things she really knew well enough about Emily was her passion for clothes. "As soon as we get back to Los Angeles and you're feeling better, we should go shopping to replace the luggage we lost. I need a wardrobe update anyway. Who better to ask for style advice than you?"

Emily was quiet.

"...I mean if you want to leave me to my own devices, that's fine too. I'm sure if I just buy some track suits in sets my clothes will match at least. Maybe I can get them cheaper at Target-"

"Ugh," a scoff and sniffle ended Emily's silence. The water threatening to leave her eyes receded, and she wiped away the crust of the tears that had already fallen. "No way in hell can I in good conscience let you do that to yourself. I'm taking you to Rodeo and we're getting you actual clothes, not yoga pants or sweats."

"Yoga pants and sweats are real clothes."

"Yeah, for athletes and yoga instructors and people that live off of dry shampoo."

"It's practical, and there are a lot of better things to do in the morning than spend three hours in the bathroom trying to look a certain way.

"If that's what you think then you need an intervention. No wonder you don't have a boyfriend."

"Wow, thanks, Em."

"I know that's sarcasm but trust me, you will be thanking me when I introduce you to Louis Vuitton."

"Who's that?"

"Are you kidding me, Sam? It's a company, and a very famous one at that. How can you have lived in L.A. and not heard that name once? Wow, I am shook."

Sam responded with a giggle. Hear Emily speak in a way so common for her way a good sign. Blackwood hadn't taken Emily's personality, which gave Sam hope for the rest of the group. What made it even better was the faint smile she saw on Chris's face from the corner of her eye. She knew they they were all permanently changed, yes, but it was good to know that they could be some semblance of themselves; that smiling wasn't impossible now.

As another hour passed, a man with slicked back black hair and an even darker suit entered unabashedly accompanied by Special Agent Morasco. In his hand he held four separate Manila folders, which he passed out to the group. "Wake her up," he said as he pointed at Ashley, plopping her folder down carelessly on the coffee table in front of where she and Chris sat. Chris complied, though off-put by the man's unsympathetic demeanor, and gently shook Ashley to wake her. She raised up and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Before she could say anything, Chris merely pointed to the man in the suit and gestured for her to listen.

"Alright then, now that sleeping beauty has decided to rejoin the waking world, I'm going to brief you on a few things. I've already explained this to your friends in the infirmary wing, so if you miss anything just ask them for a refresher later," the man spoke, his voice as insensitive as his brazen mannerisms. "I am Matchitehew, director of the Canadian-American Joint Commission for the Preservation of Indigenous Culture. I know that a bunch of American kids whose most complicated vocabulary word is the word 'Chipotle' might not be able to pronounce let alone remember that, so you can just call me Director M."

He walked back to the coffee table, opening the folder meant for Ashley to display the contents to his audience.

"I'm sure you're all well aware at this point that what you saw last night was something you were never supposed to see in the first place, let alone feed yourselves to it. So what we've got here is a non-disclosure form for you to sign before we let you leave. What this basically means is you cannot tell anyone about the Witiko. Don't give out any details, don't tell anyone that you encountered it, don't even mention that it exists at all."

"Witiko?" Chris interjected curiously. "You mean, the Wendigo?"

"Sure, if you want to call it that," the man shrugged. He closed the folder and placed his foot flat on the low table to lean on leisurely as he continued. "You're not stupid, and I'm sure you've all seen movies about conspiracies and Area 51 and other shit like that. Well kids, this isn't a movie, but the general concept still applies. I'm not gonna stuff you with some bullshit and try to discredit what you all went through and tell you what you saw wasn't even real. It was. It was very real. Just have to look at yourselves and how messed up you are to know that. You were chew toys for that thing. But the catch is, the world can't know about any of this. You can't tell anyone about it. You got pictures on your phone? Delete them. Because, and I'm just going to come right out and say it, if you don't then we will 'delete' you instead. Understand, kiddos?"

"Why?" Sam questioned, her expression disturbed just as her friends' were. "Why does this have to be a secret? Shouldn't we tell people to keep them from going there and becoming the next victims? Maybe even the next Wendigo if they're unfortunate enough?"

"Sure, because when in history has that ever not worked out well? Oh, yeah: the rape of Africa, countries invading Japan by sea, the destruction of indigenous American tribes, tourists who visit North Korea that aren't ball players named Dennis Rodman, anytime anyone in history has ever tried to invade Russia, the list goes on and on really." Director M was exceedingly overdramatic in his display, even gesturing with his fingers as he counted off his examples. "Human instinct when we learn there's something new to our little world is to see it for ourselves. People learn there's a new mystery around, they're going to want to investigate it and see things with their own eyes. And it never ends well for at least one of the parties involved. We tell people this isn't just another mountain like all the rest, then daredevils and self-proclaimed cryptozoologists will flock to it to explore. Especially now with a generation that somehow has even less respect for its surroundings and will do anything for some youtube views or a couple of likes on facebook. And what happens when they flock? They fucking die, and in the process proceed to contribute to the further demolition of indigenous cultures."

"I can understand that," Sam responded. "But if that's the case, then why did you allow the Washingtons to build a ski lodge there in the first place?"

"Well, we didn't allow anything. The lodge was built in the 90's before I was the director of the JCPIC. The Washingtons managed to buy off the director at the time so he allowed them to buy the land in a manner that was undetected by our organization. By the time anyone knew any better it was too late and the land was legally theirs, so there was nothing we could do about it. Couldn't quite come up with a believable legal loophole to explain why the Canadian government would suddenly sieze the land, so there was no way to do it without whipping the public into a frenzy."

The group was silent. It made sense, and the trouble they'd be in for speaking out wouldn't be worth the result, anyhow.

"What do we tell people then?" Emily scowled. Disdain was plastered on her face in place of the earlier tears. "What am I supposed to tell people happened to my shoulder? That I got bitten by a bear? And what about Jessica? That bitch looks all kinds of messed up. Is she supposed to just tell people she fell off the mountain or something? Look, you're telling us to take part in your little cover-up but you forget we're just kids from L.A. with no idea how to pull this crap off. We haven't been putting Bigfoot through witness protection for the past decade like I'm sure you have."

"You tell them you were attacked by a psycho, just like your friend Josh had you believe. According to all of your interviews, he did a pretty convincing job trudging up fake evidence. Just continue that story. You did say he faked getting cut in half by a saw-blade, right? We'll just say that's what happened. That's what we'll be telling his parents, and that's what you'll be telling anyone who asks you what happened to him. All of your injuries, attribute that to the psycho somehow. Anything that happened after you learned there was no psycho, just don't mention any of that. And boom! Your friend has already given you a well thought out cover story to start with. Thank him for that when you visit his tombstone."

"You're fucking heartless, you know that? After all we've been through you're just going to talk to us casually like it's no big deal, or talk about Josh like he didn't just fucking die!?" Sam shouted angrily as she leapt from her seat and jammed a finger into his lapel. Director M was too disrespectful to tolerate. It didn't matter if what he said made sense or was their best option; the way he said it pissed her off. "He's dead! He didn't want to die, either! He was murdered by that thing! And we can't even tell anyone the truth! Instead we have to carry on the worst part of his legacy! Without even a chance to figure out whether we'd be able to forgive him for that very thing or not! This 'story' might have ended our friendship, and yet it gets to live on while he doesn't!"

Director M remained calm and collected. He was unperturbed by Sam's abrupt actions. He simply stood there, nodding in hollow acknowledgement. His tone became briefly serious as the two stared each other down. "I'm not saying it doesn't suck for you, kiddo. I'm not saying it's right. But it's what we both have to do. You think this is the first tragic thing I've had to cover up? Think again. And no, it hasn't exactly been healthy for my soul if you must know. But I keep doing this job because it helps stop the tragedy from being repeated. Do you want another Sam and Josh to wander up to the mountain and have one of them get eaten by a Wendigo while the other has to come home and live with that for the rest of their life? Because I don't."

Sam couldn't respond. Of course the answer was no. For the first time in all of this, she felt too overwhelmed to even move. All of the pain from the night she'd held back for the sake of self-preservation began to permeate every fiber of her mind and body. It wasn't that she'd never felt loss before; it was how she lost Josh. Silently she walked back to her seat and picked up her folder. She stared coldly into Director M's eyes as she flipped through the pages and signed every place that was marked. She harshly closed the folder, eliciting a loud whoosh and a smack as she pressed the stack tightly together in her anger.

Without a word, she roughly pushed the documents into Special Agent Morasco's reaching arms and stormed out of the room. Not once during the night's terror did a single tear leave her eyes, but now they flowed from her at a pace so swift that her sleeves could not catch all of them. All night and all day she had been strong not only for herself but for her friends as well, but now there was no strength left in her. Only enduring sadness.

It had only been a day, and yet, she already knew that Blackwood Pines would stay with her forever.


	2. Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after Blackwood, the group are flourishing in their lives and are currently readying themselves for their yearly memorial to those they lost. Life is peaceful.....for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ AUTHOR'S NOTE | Hi! Sorry for the long wait! Literally the day after I posted the first chapter I had some really, really bad personal stuff happen and it was the longest time before I had the energy to write. Honestly, I'm still dealing with some stuff, so I'm sorry if my posting is not consistent. I've made this chapter a bit longer as an apology, since I know you all are eager to see what everyone has been up to since Blackwood! There was like a four month gap between writing the first and second half of this, so I'm sorry if there's any inconsistencies. I hope you enjoy! Questions and stuff can be sent here or on my tumblr https://theminimari.tumblr.com ]

* * *

 

**O B L I V I O N** | Synonyms: limbo, nothingness, forgetfulness

  
1\. the state of being unaware or unconscious of what is happening.  
_"they drank themselves into oblivion"_

  
2\. the state of being forgotten, especially by the public.  
_"his name will fade into oblivion"_

 

* * *

 

 

**MIKE**

  
_LAX | Los Angeles, CA_  
_4 years, 363 days later_

  
"Yeah, mom. I've got it nice and safe. Don't worry; I'm not going to lose it."

  
_The static-distorted voice of his mother resounds from the speaker of the phone._

  
"It's too soon, mom. I need to wine and dine my lady first. Make sure she's settled back in at home."

_The matronly voice replies again._

 "Look, I've got to go. Jess will be walking out of the terminal at any minute. Yes, we'll come to San Diego to see you next week. Just let her get settle back in first. She's been around the world in the past three weeks; I doubt the first thing she wants to do when she gets back is travel again."

  
_This time his mother replies calmly and heaves as sigh. He knows she only fusses because she cares._

  
"Love you, ma," he says fondly; to which his mother returns with, _"I love you too, Micheal."_ He makes sure she's completely silent before pressing his thumb to the red icon on his touch screen to end the call. Cutting off your mother was never a good idea. Even less so if your mother was Heather Munroe, the toughest lawyer and single mom on the west coast. That's how Mike saw her, anyhow. His father died when he was too young to remember the sadness his mother went through; only the strength that followed the sadness shined from her throughout the years.

  
He fumbles with the phone, almost too big for the back pocket he shoved it into. From the edge of his vision, he sees her appear at the edge of the second floor; Jessica Riley, painted and glamorous as if she'd walked straight out of a magazine. Mike chuckled to himself and whispered a quiet remark about her dedication. He couldn't remember a time when Jessica had ever put such a high level of effort into her looks for air travel. As conscious of her appearance as she naturally was, flights were seemingly the only situations in which comfort always came before style. Now it seemed that had changed. He'd expected her to descend down the escalator in sweatpants with her hair in a messy bun. Instead she wore an expensive looking pantsuit with rich curls shaped into her hair.

 

Not that he could complain.

  
While her attention remained on her phone (a different one than she'd left with, he noticed, but that would be a question for another day) he turned to the bench behind him to pick up the large whiteboard he'd brought. He was no artist, but he'd spent at least half an hour trying to draw and decorate her name in a cutesy way that she'd hopefully appreciate. It wasn't quite an artpiece, but if Jessica didn't like it, then maybe she'd at least appreciate his effort. He held the board up in a way that covered his face, hoping that it would surprise her that he came to meet her instead of sending a driver like he said he would. His toes tapped against the shiny tile as he waited.  
Jessica looked up from her phone as she reached the bottom of the escalator, peering around for the driver she was expecting. Her name didn't catch her eye oddly, but as she moved closer to the row of people waiting for pick-ups, she noticed one sign that was out of place. It had strange doodles all around it of shapes and flowers and hearts; not quite drawn by a toddler, but it would make art by a ten year old look like a Picasso masterpiece. She tried to make out the strange centerpiece of the doodles, but it didn't look like anything. Not until she tilted her head. Then it became clear. She should have already pieced it together; the overdramatic signage, the jittery demeanor of the person holding the whiteboard, and the familiar watch were all dead giveaways. She approached the odd one, taking the whiteboard from him and looking him in the eye as she turned it around.

  
"It's upside down, genius," she mused with a wide grin.

  
Mike's smile matched hers, stretching from ear-to-ear. He dropped the whiteboard without a care and pulled Jessica into a squeezing hug, lifting her gingerly into the air as she squirmed and giggled.

  
"It's still amazing, even though it's upside down. How long did Warhol spend on his stuff, eh? I drew that slice of art heaven in about thirty minutes."  
"Well," Jessica smiled coyly, "it's the thought that counts."

  
"I tried," Mike shrugged jovially and reached for the brown bag sitting in front of the bench. He pulled out a large bouquet of red carnations (she'd once told him that "roses were too basic") and presented them to her without much grandeur. "For you, my lady."

  
Jessica's eyes lit up, but there seemed to be a hint of disappointment.

  
"They're beautiful, Mike."

  
"You don't look as happy as I thought you'd be."

  
"Oh, no, I'm happy! This is a really nice gesture and the flowers are pretty. It's just...it's been a long flight, and I'm kind of starving."

  
"I figured as much...which is why I brought you this," Mike ticked his finger at her as he reached into the bag again, this time pulling out a box of takeout. "Some Chipotle to get you through the midday. Then tonight we're going out to eat with the crew."

  
A happy puff of air flushed from Jessica and she threw her arms around Mike once again.

  
"You know me so well Micheal Munroe," she mumbled into his shoulder. "I was scared you'd forget me."

  
"Forget you?" Mike scoffed and pulled back, his hands clasping around her shoulders. "How could I forget you?"

  
"I dunno," she admitted sheepishly. "I just don't always feel like I deserve you, ya know?"

  
"Jess, are you fucking kidding me?" he replied dumbfoundedly. "You realize you are, like, an actual model now. That's the basis of every guy's wildest dreams. To top it off you're also an amazing person to the point that you could look like a shredded troll and I'd still want to be with you. You're the total package, Jess. I'm the lucky one. You are the one that's had to settle for me."

  
Jessica paused and looked down at the floor as her cheeks turned powder pink.

  
"This is exactly what I mean. You always know what to say. What I need to hear, at least," she confessed and peeked up at him through her mascara-coated eyelashes.  
"What's got you so worked up, Jess? Did things not go well in Milan?"

  
"No, things went great, actually. I got a full spread in the magazine and got to give some input on a couple of editorials. That's more than most girls got to do. Vogue Italia even said they'd put in a good work for me with Anna Wintour herself."

  
"What!? Jess, that's awesome! So why aren't you bouncing all over the place right now?"

  
The blonde balked, flashing half of a smile.

  
"It's nothing, Mike. Nothing I want to talk about now, at least."

  
Mike didn't want to drop the subject quite yet. He could tell when something was bothering Jessica better than anyone. After five years of dating (with a few off-months when they called it quits for a while back at the end 2015) their lives had become so intertwined that every nuance they had was recognized and understood by each other.  
Mike could never have imagined any relationship of his reaching such a serious stage in the past. He never took anything seriously at all; his dates were his playthings. Jessica was only ever meant to be a plaything, but when he broke it off with her earlier in their relationship, he found himself doing something he'd never thought he'd do: he fought to win her back.

  
His playboy routine was broken for reasons he couldn't explain. Those few months they spent broken-up felt empty. He tried to continue like always; find a new squeeze, have fun for a time, move on when he lost interest, and repeat. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't help but compare any prospective girlfriend to Jessica. No one had prettier eyes than her, softer hair, or the ugliest laugh that somehow sounded like music to his ears. Maybe it was because their experience in Blackwood bonded them in an unseen way. If that was true, then at least he had one thing to thank Blackwood for. Three months of nothing in place of what was once a bustling love-life showed him that he wasn't ready to be done with her. After a few months back together, he stopped waiting for the time to come when he'd lose interest again. A few years later, Jessica had become a part of him; as inseparable as his heart from his chest.

  
Mike thought about pressing the issue, but he worried he might ruin her homecoming day before it even really began. He'd rather see her happy and save the talk for later.

  
"Okay. We'll save it for later, but we are going to talk about it eventually. Can't have my lady upset on her first day back home, but I want to know what's up Jess."

  
Comfort washed over Jessica as Mike wrapped his arm around her and placed a peck on her forehead. With the whiteboard tucked under his opposite armpit and the brown bag in his free hand, he guided her through the doors to the parking lot where their car awaited.

  
Today wasn't the day for heavy conversations. Today was the day they celebrated being together. For the next three days, Mike, Jessica and their friends would celebrate being alive.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**MATT**

  
_Los Angeles, CA_  
_That Afternoon_

  
Matt sighed as his fingers drifted over the glass of the mounted frame that held his jersey from his senior year. He often daydreamed about a future that could have been while looking at that jersey. Man, did he have it all lined up for him! In his four year tenure in collegiate football he broke his school record for the most tackles in a season, made it to the conference championships twice (winning once), and made it to the national championships once. According to the NFL scouts that visited him and his coaches, he was a guaranteed first round pick in the draft. He was living every athlete's dream...until his skull was trapped at the bottom of a five man pile-up and the next time he regained consciousness was two days later in the ICU. A severe concussion and an upper-neck injury made it clear to him that football couldn't be his future anymore.

  
It wasn't all doom and gloom, though. Though he couldn't be a player anymore, he found a new purpose in coaching. He'd majored in Sports Psychology and minored in Exercise Science during his initial college stint, which gave him an advantage as he returned for a degree in Coaching. He didn't have to have a degree to coach, but Matt was always determined to be the best in anything he did and was willing to put in the work to go the extra mile. His college certainly appreciated his effort. They offered him an internship with the athletic department to get field experience. It was way different than he'd expected challenged him daily; he never really realized the amount of effort the staff puts in to everything that the players don't get to see. The change in perspective made Matt love the sport even more.

  
A knock on the bedroom door drew him from his reminiscence. A smooth, feminine voice chimed from the other side.

  
"Are you ready, mi cariño? My hair appointment is in an hour. We need to leave now if we're going to beat the traffic."

  
"Uh," Matt replied, scrambling to reach his phone on the dresser. "Yeah, sorry. I lost track of time. I'm coming out right now."

  
He shoved his phone into his coat pocket and made his way to the door. Gabbi was standing on the other side, her chocolate eyes beaming at him.

  
"What, uh, what was that you called me this time?"

  
"Mi cariño. It's like saying 'my dear' or 'my darling'," she replied as she reached to straighten the collar of his shirt. There was such a contrast in their statures that she had to stand on her toes. Matt found it endearing, and though Gabbi wasn't quite happy with her own height, she often complimented his. "Thank you for driving me to this appointment. I would have Marisol drive me but she's got to take Daniel to get his shots so he can start school this year.

  
"Hey, no worries Gabbi. You know if you never need me for anything I'm here."

  
"I know. I just don't like to ask people for things. Especially when I should have already gone to get my license already."

  
"I thought Mexican licenses were valid in the US?"

  
"If you're a tourist, yes. Not if you're resident. I have to get a US license before I can drive."

  
A low hum was Matt's simple response. He'd rather not get into a discussion about the logistics of immigration with Gabbi and feel like an idiot for not knowing things. Civics and economics weren't a subject he really cared for in high school or college, but nowadays he found himself regretting slacking off in certain classes.  
Gabbi was intelligent. She was a genius (in his opinion, at least). She talked about some things with such life in her eyes, and it made him wish he could understand and carry on the conversation with her; that he could give something back to her and let her know that her thoughts fascinated him. The language barrier was no issue as Gabbi was fluent in English. Knowing that it was only his own inability holding him back nagged at him in ways he could never explain. He could only hope and pray that she didn't think less of him for it.

  
"You know, you don't have to go get your hair done for the meet-up. It's pretty casual. We aren't even going anywhere nice; just the bar and seafood place we always go to."  
"Are you kidding? I'm meeting your friends for the first time. I'm not going to go looking like a dish rag."

  
"You never look like a dish rag. Besides, you already met Mike and Jessica."

  
"I haven't met everyone else, though. I need to make a good first impression."

  
"You met Mike and Jess drunk off your ass wearing anime PJs and a Rey Mysterio mask while yelling 'Luchadora gonna fuck you up'. I don't think first impressions really matter at this point."

  
"I will NOT let that be my legacy. On a similar note, if I drink more than three shots at the bar, cut me off because once I get past three, I'm no longer scared of four, five, six, and seven."

  
"I'm well aware. But, you know, I've got this hunch that there's a certain reason you're concerned with making a good first impression," Matt's voice became softer and his hands rested on the sides of Gabbi's arms. "Talk to me, Gabs."

  
Gabbi sighed and rolled her eyes. She should have known he'd see right through her.

  
"It's Emily, isn't it?"

  
"Yes," Gabbi admitted. "Meeting your boyfriend's ex is tough, especially when you're still friends. I have to make a good first impression. It's...it's a girl thing. You wouldn't understand."

  
She neglected to mention the part she was really hung up on; the fact that it was Emily that broke off their relationship, not Matt. A part of her was terrified that Matt wasn't over her despite all evidence to the contrary. It was an irrational fear, but it still nipped at her in spite of all her efforts to be confident in her relationship with Matt. Truly, it wasn't their relationship that she lacked confidence in. It was herself. As stupid and unreasonable as it was, she was scared that she couldn't match up to Emily; that Matt would compare her flaws to Emily's perfections and decide she wasn't worth it. That Emily might take him back with a snap of her fingers and a bat of her eyelashes.  
Emily came from a rich family. From the pictures she'd seen of her, she was beautiful as well. She was the popular girl. She was fierce, intelligent, and independent. She had a career as fashion journalist and designer; a job that came with no shortage of pay, endorsements, and connections. Gabbi was a Mexican immigrant working at a bookstore to put herself through university. She had lived in a three bedroom house with her parents, grandmother, sister and nephew before she moved in with Matt. She couldn't offer him a life of luxury and fortune like Emily could.

  
The more she thought about it, the more it felt like a petty insecurity. Gabbi was damn proud of her heritage and how hard she worked for everything she had. Her parents had worked their asses off to become U.S. citizens all while trying to support two daughter, a grandchild, and her abuela. She had a nice house, clean water, a decent AC, and she even had enough money to buy things no one really needed but bought anyway, like the new iPhone that came out last month. She was happy with her life regardless of what she didn't have; what she did have made up for anything she lacked. Matt obviously didn't care that she wasn't some wealthy, Californian goddess. He asked out a dorky Latina that walked into his Literature class by accident with her face shoved too deep in a book to notice her surroundings, all while dressed in a crinkled Twenty One Pilots shirt and a pair of pajamas with Vegeta from Dragon Ball Z plastered on the fabric. He saw she was a mess from the start and he still asked her out. Why was she worrying, then?  
"Don't worry about it babe. I promise I'm not some clingy, insecure chiquita. There's just this unspoken societal pressure that all girls feel no matter how hard we try not to. I think that guys feel it too, but you'd know that better than me. You also know that if it came down to it, I'd sooner smack a bitch for hitting on my man than whine and go cry in the bathroom about it. I don't get jealous, honey, I get protective."

  
Gabbi punctuated her speech by bringing raising her hands and scrunching her fingers as if to mimic claws. Matt grinned like an idiot, clasping his hands around her wrists and pulling her arms around him to initiate a deep hug. This was a unique quirk he noticed in Gabbi; she had a way of talking herself out of her own insecurity. It made up for his lack of ability to do so, which was always a weakness he had in his previous relationships. Matt was a quiet, gentle man that didn't completely understand women despite being more sensitive than most men of his age. He wasn't equipped to talk someone through their problems. Thankfully, Gabbi wasn't the type of person that needed someone else to rationalize things for her or help her think things through. What she needed was a shoulder to cry on and someone that could help her slow down when her mind was racing. Matt could, to his pride, be that comforter to her often without even having to say a word.

  
"Those are some scary claws, girl. So, what are you? A lion or something?" he chuckled.

  
"Sounds appropriate. It's the lioness that does all the hunting while her man sits his ass on a rock all day."

  
"I don't remember that part in 'The Lion King'."

  
"Really? You don't remember the part where Scar gets mad a Simba's mom because she and her huntresses couldn't find food? Or how Nala found Simba while she was hunting, they got into a fight, and she tackled his punk ass to the ground?"

  
"That really happened?" Matt scratched his head."Damn. We've got to rewatch that sometime because I do not remember any of that."

  
"How about an entire Disney marathon? Maybe we can rope your friends into it when we leave the bar instead of everyone stumbling off into the night like a bunch of drunks."

  
"That...might actually be a nice change up. I'm not sure if I can get everyone to agree to Disney, but we can find something we'll all agree on. Or at least that everyone can tolerate."

  
"Great! I am so ready to make up for that pajama incident. Tonight we'll all be underdressed!" She paused, then laughed. "That sounded a bit more lecherous than I intended."

  
Matt met her laughter with his own hearty guffaw.

  
"I love you, Gabs," he said as he planted a kiss on her forehead.

  
"I love you too, mi cariño. Now, let's get going before we miss my appointment. We can talk more about what else you've forgotten about 'The Lion King' in the car."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**ASHLEY**

  
_"Wharfman's Seafood Bar" | Venice Beach, Los Angeles, CA_  
_That Evening_

  
"You don't think it's too short? I don't want a bunch of drunk dudes staring at my thighs," Ashley asked as she pulled at the hemline of her skirt. It reached right above her knees, but she knew that if she sat wrong on a barstool it could easily slip and show far more skin than she wanted to.

  
"Ash, that skirt could probably pass inspection at a Catholic prep school. You'll be fine," Chris assured her, though he didn't really know much about the dress code standards in Catholic schools considering he was neither a girl nor Catholic. He raised his arms to flex, air-kissing his imaginary muscles. "Besides; if I catch anyone eyeing you, I'll give 'em a nice pop."

  
"Oh, are you Popeye now?"

  
"Popeye the sailor, babe," Chris mimicked the cartoon character's famous accent as he swung his arms. "Now let's go get me some spinach so I can protect my Olive Oyl."

  
"You're such a dork," Ashley rolled her eyes with a smile. The glimmering reflection of the sunset on the ocean's surface was gorgeous. The warm hues soothed her and filled the docks with life, making everything else seem tired by comparison.

  
Ashley dreamed of one day living in Venice. Well, Venice or Greenwich Village, but lately the former had become more appealing in her mind. The energy throughout Venice was different from the rest of LA. It was more freeing. Energetic, yet peaceful. She could just imagine buying a house by the canals, quitting her stupid secretary job, and finally getting to write a novel like she'd always wanted to. If she lived here, you could bet she would go to the beach every single day. Maybe she would take up Yoga. Maybe she could learn how to surf. The latter was less likely, as Ashley had a certain aversion to risks, but who knows how a change of scenery could affect her? Maybe there was a hidden daredevil inside of her waiting for the right time to claw her way out.

  
Damn, did she wish that were true! She wanted to be more exciting. Ever since the tragedy at the lodge, she'd had this desire to live life in a way she was afraid to before, but it's been almost five years and she has done nothing. The biggest decisions she made were moving in with Chris, dying her hair purple for like three months, getting a job as a secretary for Apple, and taking online classes to earn her Master's degree in English Literature. Despite wanting to be a risk taker that lived life unapologetically, she felt like she was still the same, unchanging Ashley. What was holding her back?

  
"Isn't that Emily?" Chris whispered to Ashley as they walked down the sidewalk. Her eyes shifted to the entrance of the bar where a black-haired woman in Ray-Bans stood texting on a smartphone. She was far too chic for the building behind her. Yup, that was definitely Emily.

  
"Hey, Em!" Chris called out to the woman as he and Ashley drew closer. Emily looked up from her phone to see who called her name, and then seeing it was Chris and Ashley, she tucked the phone into her expensive-looking bag and pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head.

  
"Ugh, finally. I got sick of standing here all by myself," she said to them. There was a slight air of tension between Ashley and Emily. At least, Ashley felt there was. She couldn't speak for Emily, but she likely felt the same. She said she'd forgiven Ashley for almost getting her killed back at Blackwood, and she no longer treated her like a piece of shit, but there still seemed to be a touch of ice in Emily's eyes whenever they met Ashley's.

  
"You could have gone in and gotten a booth for us," said Chris. "That way you wouldn't have had to stand here in those giant ass shoes."

  
"There is no way I am going into a bar full of thirsty sailors alone. And don't fuck with my shoes, Christopher. They cost more than your phone."

  
"Why in the actual hell would you buy shoes that cost more than a $600 phone!?"

  
"It's her money, Chris. She can do what she wants with it," Ashley chimed in.

  
"Yeah, Chris. You're just a hater," Emily retorted.

  
"Ashley!? You're taking her side on this?"

  
"I mean, yeah. She works in the fashion industry, so I think it's technically part of her job to buy expensive stuff like that."

  
"Ah! The betrayal! You wound me, Ash," Chris gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. "I feel like Julius Caesar. Et tu, Ashley? Et tu?"

  
His drama elicited laughter from Ashley, while Emily rolled her eyes and muttered, "Fucking nerd."

  
Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from down the sidewalk. Mike, Jessica, Matt, and his girlfriend Gabbi were coming their way, with Mike strutting ahead of the pack with his usual loud grandeur. Jessica greeted Emily and Ashley with a pair of hugs, and Matt gave Chris one as well. Mike gave Chris a friendly pat on the shoulder because hugging wasn't really his thing while Gabbi stood back and waved with a smile. She was new to the group, so she didn't think that hugging people she just met was the most comfortable course of action. Looking around, Ashley noticed that everyone was present. Everyone except Sam.

  
"It looks like everyone's here except for Sam," Mike remarked. "So, has anyone heard from the second coming of Jane Goodall today?"

  
"I just texted her before everyone showed up," replied Emily. "She said there was an emergency at the clinic today so she got home late. She said that she should be here in about ten or so minutes and that we shouldn't wait for her."

  
"Yikes," Chris cringed. "So much responsibility and she's not even an actual vet yet."

  
"Well, since we have an ETA on our missing friend, let's go inside and order some food," said Jessica. "If we're lucky she'll walk in right when we get our appetizers."

  
"Agreed. We have some introductions to make anyway," Emily spoke as she looked over at Gabbi, who'd remained quiet in the background. Emily didn't feel comfortable with her being there. She may have been Matt's girlfriend, but she was still an outsider who hadn't been through what their little group had. She was blind to everything, though it wasn't her fault. Even if they could tell her the truth of what happened, she didn't experience it hersef. She didn't feel what they felt. Their yearly meet-up was strangely sacred in a way that Emily hadn't realized until a stranger was brought into the mix. This gathering was the only time they didn't have to live the lie. Now that a new set of ears was around, the lie had to bleed into this private tradition as well. What was Matt thinking, bringing her here? It felt so...invasive.

  
Despite having such strong feelings on the matter, Emily kept them to herself. It was unusual for her to hold back how she really felt, but today was not a day she wanted to ruin for herself. No matter what she said, everyone would just think she was complaining because she was jealous of Gabbi's relationship with Matt, though that was not the case. Emily was tired of coming across as a bitch even though her points were valid. This evening, she planned on keeping her mouth shut and enjoying the company of her friends.

  
Ashley could tell that Emily wasn't too pleased with Gabbi's presence. She'd been on the receiving end of those vicious brown eyes for many years. Gabbi probably couldn't tell just from looking at her, but Ashley knew from the twitch of the outer corner of Emily's eyebrows. She had to applaud her, though. By now, Emily normally would have hurled a couple of insults or backhanded compliments, but tonight she looked like she was trying to be nice. Ashley's first instinct was that Emily wasn't happy that Matt brought Gabbi because she was jealous, but jealousy was something that always brought out the worst in Emily. If she was actually jealous, everyone would be victims to her misplaced wrath right now. No, it had to be something else bothering her.

  
"Alright, so since everything's settled, let's all go get settled in and kick off the evening while we wait for Sam, eh?" Mike said, stretching his arm around Jessica's shoulders. Everyone mumbled their agreement and made their way for the door. Ashley followed behind the group, her eyes locked on Emily.

  
Chris was the only one to notice her hesitation, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze as he held the door open for her. She responded with a grin, wrapping her arm around his. Arms locked like a proper couple, they walked into the bar to join their friends and kick off what would surely be another cathartic memorial.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**SAM**

  
_"Wharfman's Seafood Bar" | Venice Beach, Los Angeles, CA_  
_2 Hours Later_

  
Sam rushed into the bar, swiping strands of hair that the wind had knocked loose behind her ears as she pushed through the hefty wooden door. The bartender crooked his head to her as he heard her enter.

  
"Sam, right?" he asked in a mild Irish brogue. He vaguely remembered her. Her group was a memorable bunch, but they only came in a couple times a year and he had a lot of faces to remember. "Your friends are over in the annex. They ordered you some food, but it's been quite a bit and it's probably cooled down by now. I can have a barmaid heat it up for you, if you want?"

  
"Oh, thanks, but it's getting pretty late and everyone's going to be ready to leave soon. I'd probably be better if I just save it for when I get home."

  
"Ay, lass. I'll have someone bring you a takeout box. Enjoy your evening."

  
"Thank you, sir," Sam tipped her head at the man and made her way to the annex. She could already hear the recognizable laughter and chatter of her friends as she walked down the hallway. Mike and Chris's laughs were the loudest, as always. When they all saw her enter, they let out a collective cheer.

  
"Hey! Looks like Sam finally decided to join us," Mike called out to her. "I was beginning to think you had something more important to do!"

  
"Ha ha. You know I wouldn't miss this," she replied and took the seat next to Emily that she'd saved for her.

  
"I ordered you that vegan strawberry shit you like. Too bad it's probably cold now," Emily said.

  
"Ah, sorry Em. If you've already paid for it, I'll pay you back."

  
"No need. Big shot Mike over here says he's going to pay for everyone's food and booze tonight with the big bonus check he got from his law firm."

  
"It's a big fucking deal, Em, and I'm going to celebrate it," Mike interjected, gleefully sloshing his beer around in its glass. "Undergraduate interns don't always get paid, so to be one that's getting paid the amount I am and also get a bonus check for my hard work is a damn fine achievement!"

  
As Mike's speech rambled on and engulfed Chris, Emily, Jessica, Ashley, and Matt, Gabbi turned to Sam.

  
"Hi," she said, offering her hand. "I'm Gabbi, Matt's girlfriend. I'm so happy to finally meet you. Matt says a lot of good things about you."

  
"Nice to meet you too, Gabbi," Sam smiled as she shook her hand. "And you have my sincerest condolences because I've heard how Matt snores before."

  
Gabbi laughed and nodded her head in agreement. "Thank you. Maybe I should have a charity fundraiser for earplugs. It'd all go to a good cause."

  
Sam's first impression of Gabbi was that she was a very nice girl. She was very lively, for sure. Sam kept catching her almost about to join the conversation, but every time she would stop herself save for the occasions where Matt, Ashley, or Jessica would try to forcefully include her. Going by how friendly she was when she did speak, she wasn't shy. Maybe she was just nervous. Meeting your boyfriend's six best friends all at once would be a daunting experience for anyone.

  
Chris tapped his glass to get everyone's attention. As he began to speak, Sam began shovelling her cold strawberry panini into the takeout box a waitress brought to her. She noticed a faint glow coming from her jean pocket. Pulling out her phone, she saw she had a notification for....an email? Who even sends email anymore? It could wait for later. If it was urgent, whoever sent it would have texted her. Mentally shrugging, she shoved the device back into her pocket and closed the lid of her takeout box.

  
"So," Chris spoke. "I think its time we, uh...we do what we came here for."

  
The group grew quiet at his words. They shifted looks around in agreement, rising from the table. Gabbi did not know their little tradition, so she followed Matt without a word. Mike laid a wad of cash on the table to pay for their meal and tip the waitress as they made their way to the exit. Chris approached the bartender, who gave a knowing nod and handed him four shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels. The bartender was acquainted with their little ritual by now, and he didn't mind volunteering a bottle to them so they could honor the people they lost.

  
Though they would be rowdy on any other occasion, the survivors were deathly silent as they crossed the beach to get to a lonesome pier. Their pier. The last place they all gathered before they went to Blackwood for the first time. Mike did the honors this time. One by one, he filled each shot glass, said the name of one of Blackwood's victims, and placed it on the rail of the pier.

  
"For Beth, who gave her life trying to save her sister," he placed the first.

  
"For Hannah, a sweet soul who deserved so much better than we gave her," he placed the second, kissing the outside of the glass in quiet apology as he did every year.

  
"For the mountain man, a stranger who gave his life protecting a bunch of stupid kids," came the third.

  
Mike hesitated on the last one. Staring into the brown liquid, he felt his guilt return. It always came back. Always.

  
"For Josh, who needed help that his friends couldn't give him."

 

* * *

  
A couple of hours later, the group had found themselves back at Matt and Gabbi's place, watching a marathon of Disney movies. Gabbi finally seemed to settle in with the group and playfully argued with Chris over the cinematic and cultural value of each movie, which was far too entertaining for anyone to interfere in.

  
Sam decided to finally warm up her panini and made a trek to the kitchen. She pulled the takeout box from the refrigerator and put it in the microwave, though it admittedly took her a couple of minutes to figure out how to work it. As she stood waiting to hear the heavenly ding that would silence the rumbling of her hungry stomach, she remembered the email she'd gotten while at the bar. She opened her mail app, tapping on the most recent email.  
"No subject? Wow, how ominous," she joked to herself.

  
What was in the email, however, was certainly no joke. If it was, it was a sick one. There was only one line of text.

 

  
**h  e  L  P           M  e           s  a  M  M  Y**

 

  
Who in the fuck would send something like that? Sam was utterly confused. Was this some weird prank? It wasn't really funny. It's like when someone calls and asks if your refrigerator is running.

  
Something about the email felt wrong. What bugged Sam the most was that no one called her Sammy. No one that was alive, at least. Looking at the information panel of the email, she noticed there was an attachment: a single, minute-long video. It was most likely some weird jumpscare; some new internet fad that someone decided to send to her. She should have just deleted the video and eaten her panini. She should have, and yet...

  
Sam's fingers shook as she hovered over the play button. Against her better judgement, she pressed the button and waited for whatever surprise the sender had in store for her. There was no picture. The screen remained black as the audio played.At first there was only heavy, frantic breathing. It sounded like something from a horror film, only more realistic. Like the person was actually scared instead of pretending. Creepy.

  
Then, a voice kicks in.

 

 

  
**_"Sa-...Sam..."_ **

 

 

  
The voice sounded familiar. It sounded like...

 

  
_**".....Sammy......"** _

 

  
No. There is no fucking way. It couldn't be...

 

  
**_"....I'm here.....I'm alive...."_ **

 

  
What kind of sick fuck would send something like this? This had to be fake! But how? How could someone fake something with HIS voice!?

 

  
**_"....I know I did you wrong......Sammy....please......help me...."_ **

 

  
The voice was hard to make out between the panic and the static that kept cutting in. The parts Sam did hear, she couldn't believe.

 

 

  
_**"......they..........the wendigo.......they want....."** _

 

  
Sam's body was shaking. No one knew about the wendigo. No one but the government and the people who were at Blackwood. There was no way a simple prankster could know about them! Then...this video....this voice was...

 

 

 

 

  
**_"......help me....Sammy...."_ **

 

 

 

  
The audio ended and the kitchen grew silent, save for the smack of Sam's phone hitting the floor and the ding of the microwave.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [ A.N. | Questions and stuff can be sent here or on my tumblr https://theminimari.tumblr.com ]


End file.
